A man sat rocking slowly his back against the wall of a dimly lit room. With his knees tucked tightly against his chest he let out an occasional pathetic whimper that was lost, swallowed by the sound of other activity. It was only when he began beating his head against the wall that a concerned bystander approached.

"Are you well," the bystander asked a little unsure that he was doing the right thing.

"No," the man whispered as he looked up with blood shot eyes. "It is Gone!"

"What is gone?" The bystander returned now a bit worried at his current situation. Here he was within grabbing distance of someone who obviously was crazed.

"What!" Exclaimed the bystander in shock. Hurriedly he rushed over to the proprietor of the establishment.

"Good hostess," he began, "I have heard a most unsavory rumor, and please excuse me for asking; but is it true that your hall is dry?"

A high pitched laugh, more like a subdued screech, burst from the woman's throat. "Ha! Rumors all of it. Who you've been talking with?" With a nod the gentleman indicated the man against the wall.

"Oh, Him..." the proprietor sniffed dismissively. "Told him we were out wine, but that there was plenty of fine grog and gutrot for drinking." At the women's statement the gentleman's face went pale. "Foul rumors, my establishment dry? Ha to that I say. Sir are you well?"

Minutes later another patron entered for a night of drinking. Against the far wall sat two men swaying slowly back and forth. Moving closer to find an empty table, the patron heard the two mutter in unison, "Gone! All Gone!"